CHAPTER 6
The music in the ballroom was deafening, a mix of expensive champagne and hollow, insincere laughter. Mateo was locked in his room upstairs, pressing his ear against the door, trying to hear his mother’s voice amidst the chaos.
He had hidden a small, silver whistle his mother had given him in the park before the struggle. He clutched it tightly, praying that someone, anyone, would hear the signal he had been practicing for days.
The door creaked open, and Isabella walked in, her face twisted into a mask of false sweetness that made Mateo shudder. “Dinner time, little prince,” she said, holding out a plate of food he didn't want to touch.
“I’m not hungry,” Mateo replied, his voice small but steady.
Isabella knelt beside him, her long, manicured nails digging into his shoulder with a sharp, painful pressure. “You will eat, and you will smile for the cameras tonight. If you act out, I will ensure your mother never finds you.”
Mateo bit his lip, refusing to cry, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing him break. He knew his mother was coming; he felt it in the deepest corners of his heart.
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Downstairs, the front gates of the mansion exploded inward, a black sedan smashing through the heavy iron with a roar of screeching metal. The music cut out instantly, the guests screaming as federal agents and police officers swarmed the courtyard.
It was time.
